Damaged
by devilishlysas
Summary: Sylar/Claire; AU version of Fugitives, Claire is put through extensive testing by the Government, is Sylar her unlikely hero, or the monster playing nice? Disclaimer: Heroes and its characters are not mine. Warning: NC-17; non-con later chapters.
1. Damaged Part I

DAMAGED - Part I (NC-17)

Written by Devilishlysas83  
AU Fugitives  
Warning: some disturbing imagery; non con in later chapters  
(Will be Sylaire eventually)

Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes, or its characters, I just like to take them for a joy ride.

Extract: _Claire watched in horror as the door to her cell slid open, in this place, she had learnt that hope was a cruel thing, something to be feared, avoided, and ignored._

Claire watched in horror as the door to her cell slid open, in this place, she had learnt that hope was a cruel thing, something to be feared, avoided, and ignored. The cell door remained open, and no one entered. Curiosity wasn't something she had indulged in some time, but she leant forward, trying to see around the sides... no one. The cell door remained open and she still sat there. Hesitantly, with precious time ticking away Claire stood, sliding up the cold concrete wall to stand on bare feet. They had never meant to capture her, she knew that, Nathan, bastard though he was, had never ordered that. But having revealed her abilities to them, her incarceration became inevitable, whoever her father was. Lurching forward she grasped the metal door frame, sticking her head out cautiously, expecting it to be blown off. It wasn't. A few sharp breaths later and she was running half crouched along the empty concrete corridor. The other cells were empty, but the doors were closed, she had no idea what the significance of that was, only that when she had been brought in here the cells had most definitely not been empty... or quiet. The lights flickered briefly, she gave them only a thought as she slammed into the lift, it didn't open, so she mashed the buttons on the side. Nothing! Applying her full concentration, which was an effort, apparently the drugs that kept her docile were still in her system... hardly surprising as she was injected every hour. There was a swipe system in place to access the lift, she'd need a key card. Turning sharply she looked back down the deserted corridor, nothing. Slamming her fist into the metal doors with enough force to shatter the knuckles and scuff the paint work did even less to help. She was trapped. Was that why her cell door was open? Was this some kind of cruel psychological test, open the door to show her that she was trapped whether she was in the cell or not? If so it was working, despair was creeping across her with alarming speed as she sunk to the floor. There was only one way out of this corridor, the lift. A few self pitying minutes later anger replaced despair. If this was a test then they could go screw themselves... she'd just go back and sit in the cell, refuse to play there stupid game.

But that doubt, that nagging thought, _what if it wasn't a test?_ If that was the case then there was only one other option, one option that bordered so close to hope that she instantly shied away from the very idea of it. Her cell door was miraculously open; the building clear of anyone that could stop her, the only obstacle was a lift door. She stood, and straightened the ridiculously bright orange jump suit they had stuck her in, glad that her body couldn't feel the discomfort of the cold air, kept unnaturally cool by the huge air conditioning units, no expense spared to torment the inmates it seemed. Claire cocked her head, her golden hair, still long and gently curling, despite their efforts with the razor fell in her eyes and she brushed them away impatiently and examined the doors. Her ability was defensive, she knew that, but in the back of her mind was always the notion that with a little imagination, she could wield it like a weapon. She wondered how strong the doors were, a simple punch without much force had already scuffed them. Giving the closed doors one last cursory glance she turned and stalked down the corridor putting a decent distance between her and them. Claire turned back, and took a deep breath, before running full out at the sealed elevator doors. She had a few meters to consider how best to impact to get the highest amount of force, deciding on the first try for simplicity, she simply threw her whole right side into it. The impact sent a sickening crunch through her body, and the bang was loud enough to send anyone running... if there had been anyone about. No one came, and she stood back up, slotting joints and ribs back into position as she went. There was a dent in the metal doors. Not enough to separate the two halves, but it was something... and she could do this forever. Stalking back down the corridor she repeated the action, over and over, hurling her body with ever increasing abandon into the slowly weakening metal. It was better than a battering ram she decided, as finally a gap caused by a particularly sharp blow from her feet, had materialised between the seal. Claire grabbed at it, pushing and straining with everything she had to push the metal further beyond and create a gap. With new enthusiasm she hurled herself with more accuracy at the weak point of the joint. Not as easy as it sounded when you were slick with blood, she had to stop and wipe the blood off her feet onto the concrete, the floor already streaked with it. But slowly and surely the metal bowed inwards towards the empty elevator shaft, and the gap widened. It wasn't enough for a person to get through, not really, but the last ten blows had refused to push further, this was as wide as she was going to get it. It wasn't like she was afraid to lose some skin in the escape attempt, or indeed pop a few joints. She was however mildly concerned about getting stuck.

Claire considered the gap for what seemed like hours, but was probably more likely bare minutes. She really had nothing to lose, if this was a test she failed to see the point. If it was escape, then it was a poor one. Levering herself into the gap, she pushed her arms and shoulders through, knowing full well that if she could get her head through that was all that mattered. It helped that the metal hadn't come away smoothly, it was jagged and sliced into her. Her ear came off at some point she stared with fascination as it dropped to the concrete floor, so she continued pushing, not caring what came off, until she was through. Her head slipped through the gap and she was relieved to note that it was still attached to her body, that she would have minded losing. Her shoulders twisted and she heard them pop out of position, she hadn't even realised she'd strained them particularly; a drawback to not being able to feel anything...no warning. Pushing with her legs she forced them through, just in time to feel them pop back into place, returning the use of her arms. The mass amounts of blood the whole event had cost her was finally becoming useful, her whole body was slick, like some horrific lubricant. A contortionist it seemed had nothing on her, they were bound by the suppleness of joints, and the limitations of the skeleton, and the amount of pain a body could take before the mind snapped shut, she wasn't. Hers buckled and tore, reforming on the other side, until finally, she was able to drag herself into the lift shaft, taking hold of the metal wall as she levered her feet through.

It would have been too helpful of course to get through the doors to find a lift there, waiting to carry her to safety. Instead all there was; was an empty shaft, and the central cable. Not even a helpful ladder on the side you sometimes got in those action films to help the hero climb to safety, after having escaped some incredible danger. She should have been tired, her muscles and limbs straining from the efforts to simply get in here, but she wasn't even sweating, her body caked in her own blood as it was, was whole, intact and consistently perfect. So she jumped leaving the wall, and grasping the hard central metal cable with both hands, wrapping her legs around to be sure. Just like in gym class, hand over hand, her feet together, creating a friction forming knot, she climbed, trying to push from the legs. The skin on her hands constantly reformed, as did her feet, her muscles flexed, straining and pushing their limits, tendons popped with the extended effort. But it didn't matter, for the first time since it had happened she began to appreciate the expansion of her ability. Regeneration or not, had she attempted this not so long ago, she wasn't sure she'd have been able to hold on, the pain her body must be in would no doubt have surely caused her to slip at some point, to give up. But now... as each hand rose, dragging her bloodied form up the shaft, she realised that truly she had become indestructible, there were no limits to what her body could achieve, only what she failed imagine.

There were no levels for a while, as she continued up. She had considered the possibility that down might have been easier; maybe find the actual lift, or another access point. But if there was an up, and she was in a cell, she was convinced it would be a basement somewhere, which meant up was freedom. Finally a set of doors appeared and she stared at it. There was absolutely no way she could smash another set of elevator doors in, for one there was no run up, second, no floor. Hanging onto the cable she examined the doors, they opened when the elevator turned up, which means there had to be a mechanism somewhere that it triggered, because you certainly didn't have to swipe to exit. But she wasn't an engineer, in fact she hadn't taken a lot of classes in school that could even remotely help her here. If there was, then not only couldn't she see it, but she doubted she'd be able to force it. So with grit determination she continued up, her only option was reach the top, and hope, _'there was that god forsaken word again,'_ that there was something like an exit up there, or find the lift and get inside, use that to open the doors. So up she went, passing at least 4 more levels, before she caught a glimpse of it, the bottom of the lift, judging by the distance, not 2 floors away. With renewed strength, she pulled her now sticky and stinking body up, dried blood really was disgusting she mused, as it kept her hair plastered to her face. What was worse was the notion that she had far too much experience washing it off. Claire gripped the cable with her legs and lifted her arms, examining the lift. There were always panels right? A way for service people to get in besides the doors in case the lift got stuck in the shaft? If there were it certainly wasn't on the bottom. With an increasing sense of urgency Claire released she was going to have to get on top, the question was how? She eyed the sides of the lift shaft, and the elevator itself. There was a gap, wider in some places than others. Taking in the distance to the sides of the shaft, the shitty hand holds the metal walls offered, she decided that the lift itself would be a better option than leaping. So she pushed up, coming directly beneath the lift, and grasping onto the metal brackets and cables beneath, she left the safety of the central line. Hand over hand monkey bars style she made her way to the edge of the elevator. It took a few moments of sideways jiggling to swing her legs up to the metal lip on the side of the elevator, so that she could pull herself up to hang on the side of it. But she managed it, using the shaft behind her and the lift side, she inched upwards, scraping huge holes in the knees of her much abused jump suit as she went; until finally she collapsed onto the top of the elevator; more out of relief than any sense of exhaustion.

Claire chose to stay there for a few minutes, staring blankly up at the ceiling, wherever she was, she knew one thing at least, she was on the top floor, whether that was at the top of a tower, or the top of a massive underground complex she had no idea. The hood that had covered her head as she'd arrived here in chains hadn't exactly made it easier to get the layout of the place. Sitting up she examined the lift roof. It was there, the service hatch, a panel in the roof, helpfully labelled with 'emergency access, pull to enter.' So she yanked the metal roof and couldn't help but smile at the perfectly empty elevator beneath her feet. Dropping down inside she took a moment to examine the panel. There were 6 floors, naturally she was on 6, it reminded her of primatech, had she been in the governments version of level 5? Either way the lift doors were ready and waiting, the power was still on, reaching out a suddenly trembling hand she hit the door open button at the bottom. The doors hissed like a seal had been breached, and then slid open with ease. Claire waited a few seconds, there were no shouts, no gunfire, just silence. Not trusting her luck to stretch much further she darted out of the elevator and hugged the wall, making her way down yet another concrete corridor, more convinced than ever they kept it like this to make it deliberately hard to get your bearings. Inevitably there were no side exits, no detours, just the end of the corridor, she was overwhelmed by the feeling that maybe she was being led like a lamb to slaughter. But she had no other options, sitting down and sobbing although remaining on her to do list, was firmly being ignored for now. A large door loomed at the end. Level 1 emblazoned on it. At least there was a handle this time, and no panel. She didn't hope, kept her mind deliberately blank as she reached for it, hesitating only a moment before she pushed on it. The handle moved, and the door clicked open. Surprise. She stuck her head around the door first, the room on the other side was dark; she couldn't see a thing. Not a flickering light, a whir of machinery nothing. The feeling that this was a test increased, escape was becoming a fleeting possibility, this was all just too staged. Her cell door, the climb, the dark empty room behind an open door!

Claire had no choice but to play, not really. Gritting her teeth she shoved the door open and strode into the darkness, not in the least bit surprised when the door slammed shut behind her and she heard the distinctive sound of a lock sliding into place. Lights flickered on and she was momentarily blinded, blinking a few times she was able to make out a large concrete room. Of course, it was just a giant version of her cell. The only difference were the mounted gun turrets that all turned as one to train on her. It was a surreal moment, as she realised there were strategically placed metal crates, and concrete blocks all over the room. The guns opened fire and she dived for the protection of the nearest crate, feeling the impact of the bullets with her shoulder and back, if not the pain. As she ducked down, keeping her head low, the guns fell silent, only the sounds of the bullets slipping from her healing body and landing on the floor could be heard. Of course it was a test; unless this was the security system from hell, which was unlikely. She considered sitting down behind her crate and staying there until they came and got her. If they came. Clearly there was a plan, for her, for her ability, and she was inclined to stuff it and refuse to play their little game. But there was another part of her, an apparently stronger part that wanted to show them what she was capable of. She'd always been competitive, always wanted to feel useful, needed, the best, it was rising now. Perhaps they thought she couldn't possibly get out? Or they wanted to know her limit. So did she. It had been a driving force behind her search for answers to her own ability from the beginning... to know just what she could do, what was happening to her. Glancing at the positions of the guns to her left and right she tried to recall the others. It wasn't like she could die from gunfire, but one lucky shot in the back of the head and she might not come back... possibly. It was an extent she'd never tried, objects sticking in it were fine, once they came out she was as right as rain, but a great big gaping hole through there? She had no idea if her body could heal that, wasn't all that curious to find out.

Deciding that waiting was just making the anxiety worse she sprang from her hiding spot and the guns roared to life, she ducked and weaved, tried to avoid the brunt of them keeping her head out of what she took to be the line of fire as she aimed for the next piece of cover. Bullets tore through her legs and took out her knee; she stumbled going down hard as bullets tore into her side, until she was down, panting and motionless on the floor. The guns stopped. Breathing slowly Claire listened as the bullets were pushed out, hitting the floor with little clangs. Motion activated she realised, feeling a little slow for not making that connection earlier. Her body was healed, she knew that, but could she leap to her feet and make it to cover before she was cut down again, healing was one thing, but she was still vulnerable to losing her footing when her knee caps were blown out. There was a crate to her right, directly so, but by the time she was upright again, she'd be riddled with bullets, so she didn't stand, she rolled, and she rolled damn fast, spinning over and over as she aimed for the crate. Gunfire cracked through the silent room, the sound of it impacting her flesh was unpleasant, as she had no way of knowing how close it was getting to her head, not being able to feel the impacts themselves. She reached the crate and pulled herself around it to the side that wasn't in a crosshair. The guns fell silent and she slumped her back against it, examining the remnants of her jump suit. What had once been orange, had taken on a distinctly red hue, and concentrated fire along with the various gashes she'd created on her struggle through the elevator gap had left areas of it gaping open, to reveal bloody but otherwise smooth skin beneath. She sighed, and ducked her head around the crate, trying to judge where the door was and how fast she'd have to run to make it. Gunfire erupted again and she whipped her head back around until it ceased. Clenching her fist, in what was most definitely anger, bordering on irritation she leapt to her feet and hurdled one of the gun turrets as it turned on her. Her back was no doubt like Swiss cheese as she tumbled through the door on the other side, kicking the door shut as she dived sideways and out of the line of fire. At least they'd avoided her heart, that one always put her down a few seconds; too long she thought ruefully.

---*----


	2. Damaged Part II

Damaged Part II (NC-17)

Written by Devilishlysas83  
AU Fugitives  
Warning: some disturbing imagery; non con in later chapters  
(Will be Sylaire eventually)

Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes, or its characters, I just like to take them for a joy ride.

Extract: _Lights flickered to life, revealing the next level of fun, that the boys upstairs had clearly designed just for her. A narrow corridor, she examined the walls, there were things in the walls she noted, nozzles; she caught a flash of metal. A gauntlet she realised uneasily._

Lights flickered to life, revealing the next level of fun, that the boys upstairs had clearly designed just for her. A narrow corridor, she examined the walls, there were things in the walls she noted, nozzles; she caught a flash of metal. A gauntlet she realised uneasily. Full of things that might slice her head off! A rather unpleasant lump of lead settled in her stomach and refused to dislodge as she stared down the tunnel of carefully orchestrated death.

"So you know." She raised her voice, certain now that despite the fact that she hadn't seen a single camera, they were all currently trained on her. "You people are sick!" Of course there was no answer, and she felt slightly foolish screaming into thin air, but oddly justified. She inched forward, keeping one hand against the wall behind, for some kind of safety. There was a whoosh of air and she leapt back, leaving a trail of blood. Her stomach turned as she realised the top of her foot had been neatly carved off. She raised her eyes, looking at it, sitting there in the centre of the corridor not inches from her, her toes still twitching. Glancing back down at her feet she was impressed to see bone shooting out, splitting and budding into toes, as muscle and nerve raised along them, until they were sealed behind skin. "Gross." She muttered. Oddly impressed by herself. But now wasn't the time to think about that, she had a problem. This chamber, corridor, was going to turn her into a shishkebab, she'd be lucky if there was a piece large enough left at the end for her to regenerate from. It bought all kind of interesting ideas into mind though, for one, why wasn't what was left of her half foot regenerating, and a whole new Claire springing out of it? The only answer she had was that maybe it needed the brain to make it do that; further adding fuel to the notion that lopping of her head might just kill her. Unless of course a whole new body sprung from the neck of the severed head... she shuddered, praying she wasn't about to find out. A moment of hopelessness washed over her, when she considered just sitting back down and refusing to cross. It would have been easier. But she had never been one to give up. Maybe just maybe this wasn't a test, maybe it was a gauntlet, one designed to keep her in. Hope again. She shoved the thought aside and snapped her hand forward in a sharp punch, pulling it back to her chest with swift precision of her highly tuned muscles. A blade shot up from the floor, but it stopped at barely ankle height and nothing had sparked beyond it where her hand had travelled to. "Bastards." She muttered with feeling as she hopped over the point on the floor where the blade had come, trying to ignore the sound as it snicked through and she landed firmly on the other side, inside the 'little corridor of horrors'.

Facing forward Claire eyed the next most likely point of attack. It was difficult to tell where a blade, if it was even a blade would come out... there were tell tale signs on all sides, just like the previous one. Drawing the unfortunate conclusion that she would simply have to stick her hand or foot out to discover it, she did just that... and pulled a blood stump of a hand back for her trouble. It was a good job she wasn't expected to dodge the blade, they came out so fast you could only catch a glimpse of them as they retreated if you were paying attention. She hadn't been looking the right way, which meant although she knew roughly where the blade was coming from, she had no idea if she should jump or duck to get her body through intact. With nothing else for it she stuck her now reformed hand back in, withdrawing it fast enough to only loose the fingers this time. Giving them a pitying look as they lay on the floor, adding to a nice trail of body parts she dodged sideways across the gap intact, sticking to the safe left hand side. Glancing back she realised she'd made it a quarter of the way... so probably only another 6 or so more ways to get sliced and diced before she reached the next room. "Great." She tutted, edging forwards slightly so that she could get the best view of the next blade. Choosing the left hand this time she snapped it forwards, and withdrew it whole... no blade. Claire hesitated, glancing at each corner of the narrow walls. The motion sensors seemed quite accurate, but just to be sure she snapped her hand through one more time, same result. Maybe this one was faulty? She snorted at the idea, not likely. This was just something different. There was nothing for it, she had to step. Her leg came off at the knee and she dropped to the floor in surprise narrowly missing the blade behind again for her trouble. Claire pulled herself upright and examined the rapidly shooting bone that was regenerating the limb. It was the most she'd ever lost, granted before the gauntlet her toe had been the previous limit, but still... half a leg was certainly a fair chunk. It took no more than 30seconds before the skin was sliding over, sealing the new limb in place. She prodded it experimentally, it felt the same, before she tested wiggling her toes... perfect of course. A little more hesitantly this time she got to her feet. This blade had been slower, but in no way any less lethal, she hadn't stuck her foot that far across, and still managed to lose her leg at the knee, the blade was angled down, it was just luck that she hadn't been leaning forwards. She decided then and there to remain perfectly straight when she tested the next one, keeping whatever limb she offered up as far away as possible from the bits she wanted to keep attached. Dropping to the floor she rolled across the bottom coming to a stop at the next juncture. All in all it cost her 37 fingers, 25 toes, 5 hands, 2 arm, 3 legs and an entire shoulder to crawl out the other side, her head still on, for which she was gratefully relieved. She wondered vaguely if they'd known she couldn't feel pain when they set these experiments up? Probably not... she doubted they cared, but it did make it somewhat more monstrous on their parts. Maybe she should have pretended to feel something? Bit late now, but still she mused, as the next door slammed shut behind her illuminating a vast tank of water in front, perhaps it might have made it harder for them to watch knowing she was in pain.

It was obvious this time, exactly what they had planned. The water was wired; she took in the cables fed into the sides, electrical cables. The whole thing was electrified. "Shit." She cursed, eyeing it warily. Granted she'd had her fair share of experience with electricity, and that really it posed her no harm... drowning on the other hand, she imagined might be more unpleasant. Could you heal from drowning? It wasn't like her body was injured, just that her lungs would be full of water, her body starved of oxygen. She could suffocate, she knew that, had tried it. Just like everyone else she would pass out and come too later. Unfortunately she had no idea if she could come too whilst still being drowned/suffocated, she'd only tested it alone and the bag had come undone when she'd let go. And she would drown, electricity couldn't kill her, but just like everyone else her body locked up when hit by it, her experiences with Elle highlighting that. Her muscles would cramp up, lock up, her lungs would be paralysed, and she'd sink. She felt compelled to remind her silent audience, "You know the laws of physics and biology still apply here." She snapped. "Electricity paralyses." Silence. Annoyed now she blew out a breath and simply stared at the surface of the water, there really was no way around, and she had no intention of going back into the blender behind, she liked her limbs attached. Claire edged forwards and glanced down, the water wasn't too deep, there was the possibility that she could stand. She wasn't sure if that would help, given as her legs wouldn't move, when coursing with electricity, but maybe, just maybe if she was standing they wouldn't collapse, in which case she wouldn't drown. There was no edge to the water, nothing to hold onto, just water meeting the wall, with the cables.

Sitting down she swung her legs over the water and held them up, she had to land upright or she was done for. But jumping in and going under was out of the question. How was she supposed to move? She'd be just stood there like a fried shrimp. She glanced again at the cables and the water, shouldn't it be doing something, showing some sign that current was charging through it? There had to be a way through this, it was a test of her abilities, not how long she could sit on the bank, being electrocuted before she'd even gotten in. She held her breath, closing her eyes as she prepared, seeing nothing else for it... but then she heard it. The hum. Yanking her legs back, she brought her head closer to the surface and listened. There was a feint hum, then and click and no more hum. She waited, another click and the hum started up again, and the hair on her arms rose with it. The electricity was on a cycle. On, off, on, off, like clockwork. She needed to time it was all, get in, assume a steady position, and wait to be fried. "Whoever designed these things; really should see a shrink." She glanced up, having nowhere to look but feeling it would add weight to her exclamation, "Because seriously the only person I know of that could have come up with anything even close, was a homicidal maniac, what does that say about you?" she sneered and hopped into the water in time with the cycle. She gripped onto the edge behind her for dear life, staying as straight as possible. The click came and electricity coursed through her, lifting her hair and slamming her teeth together with enough force to shatter them. But her leg muscles held; slamming into place, locked firmly in the position she had planted them in. The hum clicked off and she gasped a breath, almost choking on the stench of burnt flesh as she shuffled forward, counting off the 3 seconds she had to move and leaving the support of the edge behind.

It should have been agonising, had she been able to feel pain she was almost certain that she would have gone under. Even her body seemed to ache bone deep as attempted to drag herself out of the water before it came back on, she didn't quite make it getting dosed again with her right leg still in, which just succeeded in pissing her off further. Dragging herself to her feet, the damp half fried mess that was her jump suit hanging off her she shrugged what she could back on and ran a hand through her hair. "Bastards." She cursed again with feeling, digging her nails into her hands as she fisted them, feeling nothing. "I'm going to throw everyone who had anything to do with this in there, I swear." She stomped towards the door and wrenched it open striding in with new found confidence, fuelled by anger.

The smell of gasoline assaulted her, and she laughed, it sounded cool and sharp even to her own ears, she'd survived a nuclear explosion, a little fire was nothing. Not even pausing she strode through the room, fire engulfed her and she kept walking, not even slowing her pace, even when her eyeballs melted, leaving her momentarily blind. She held her arms out and hit the wall the other side. Glancing down, her jump suit still on fire she wrenched the door open and stalked through, her every stride embittered and furious.

---*----


	3. Damaged Part III

Damaged Part III (NC-17)

Written by Devilishlysas83  
AU Fugitives  
Warning: some disturbing imagery; non con in later chapters  
(Will be Sylaire eventually)

Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes, or its characters, I just like to take them for a joy ride.

Extract: _The door slid shut behind and she had a moment to stare in surprise, she felt like she was in a zoo. Glass panels were everywhere with people behind them, some in lab coats, most in uniform, a few in suits._

The door slid shut behind and she had a moment to stare in surprise, she felt like she was in a zoo. Glass panels were everywhere with people behind them, some in lab coats, most in uniform, a few in suits. Her eyes scanned the faces, pausing when her eyes fell on Nathan and Angela, in the middle of a particular set of suits and uniforms. She flipped a finger at them both, feeling highly justified in doing so, before she noticed that there were a group of people in orange jump suits, that looked like hers had at one point, she glanced down, hardly caring that she was practically naked now. What was left of her jumpsuit burnt itself into non existence leaving her bloodslicked and blackened but otherwise pristine and naked. Her fellow inmates where all chained, seated, drugged she guessed, but alert, their eyes flicking between the monitors that were all over the room and her within it. What was this, show and tell?

"I hope you found that entertaining!" she spat, not sure who she was directing it at, but focusing her eyes on Nathan.

The sound of a microphone rustled, and Claire's eyes followed an older, greying man in a Uniform as he leant forward to a microphone. "Entertaining is hardly the word I would chose my dear." His voice rang with authority and she glared soundly back at him. "More like astounding." Claire wasn't moved by his flattery. "You have an incredible gift."

Claire snorted. "Yes, I'm the reusable crash test dummy." she sneered. "Wonderful."

"Claire, don't you see?" Nathan's voice rang through her new observation cell, and her head snapped around so fast to look back at him that she heard something crack.

"Don't you dare speak to me." She couldn't shout, her voice was constricted by rage, "Don't you ever speak to me again." She stalked forwards her eyes fixed on him. "You're not my father, you're my jailer." She grinned coldly. "And when I get out of here, I'm going to put an indestructible fist through your head." Her eyes shifted to her grandmother, "Both of you." She turned her back on them. Surprised that Nathan's voice didn't ring out again. Instead she stared at the other prisoners. She knew most of them she realised uneasily. Matt, Tracy, Hiro, Daphne, Flint, and a whole bunch who she recognised but had no names for, others she had never seen in her life. They were alert, so she assumed the drugs attached to them on drips were merely keeping their abilities at bay. Each face had the same expression as they stared back at her, admiration and despair; mingled together as one.

" Claire." That voice, belonging to the Uniformed man again. "I understand that you're angry."

She turned her head to gaze at him darkly. "I really don't think you do."

"You're unique Claire. No one else can do what you can do, not in the whole world." His hard eyes were boring into her and she saw exactly what he wanted.

"Go to hell." She spat grinning coldly.

"You haven't even heard the offer yet." He added sharply.

"I don't need to. I can see the sales pitch already. Join the army, make new friends, walk through a battlefield and put a bullet in the enemy." She turned around raising her hands across her chest, and crossing them firmly. "So not interested."

"Don't you think that's somewhat selfish." He snapped, and she could see his irritation building, "What you can do, it would make a real difference, save so many lives. Your blood alone can offer so much, help cure disease, resurrect the dead!"

"At the expense of what?" she replied coolly at him, "People choose to serve. I never chose, no one ever asked me what I wanted. You want me to go out there, defend freedom and the American way." She glared at him in disgust. "What am I then, a slave? A tool, a weapon? How can you stand there and call me selfish when you take my freedom, my basic human rights, torture me... and then what, expect me to help you?" she laughed, cold and unamused. "You put a gun in my hand and I'll aim it at the enemy... you."

"Claire." Nathan snapped, down his own microphone and she spun away from his voice, she ran for the door behind yanking it open. The voices came from different places; ringing together as one as she ran full pelt for the water, she leapt from the edge landing inside as electricity leapt from all over, she sunk beneath the surface, water rushing into her mouth and lungs as her body spasmed. It turned off and she remained where she was, before it clicked on again, thrashing through her. The next cycle she was beyond thinking about the surface, her lungs full of water, her limbs unresponsive and her eyesight darkening she felt the smile form on her face, even as the next wave hit and blackness enveloped her, whole and willingly.

---*---

Sound filtered into Claire's ears, and she could make out voices, and her name being discussed. Keeping her eyes closed she stayed still, in this place, everything you could learn was an advantage.

"So she's not indestructible then." A stern voice she didn't recognise, probably one of the Uniforms.

A bark of laughter. "Were you not watching?" The voice from the microphone, the hard eyed greying General; "That was as close as anything I have ever seen to indestructible. It was damn near the greatest thing I've ever seen in fact." There was a thud, and Claire imagined that he'd just clapped the other speaker on the shoulder. "I mean just imagine it, she could walk into almost anything and walk back out. Alive."

"May I remind you, she drowned." That other cold voice again.

"And isn't dead, and it was an electrified vat of water." The Uniform corrected.

"She's unstable, she threw herself into that water, and considering she got through it only moments earlier, I'd say she had a death wish when she did."

"Temporary set back." Nathan's voice, cool and collected, like he was discussing the weather. "She is my daughter, she'll come around. She just needs some encouragement."

"You're delusional." Claire snapped unable to remain silent with Nathan above her offering up the soul of his first born to the military. She opened her eyes, testing the restraints they'd put her in, as she glared across at him.

"You're awake." Angela came forward. "How do you feel?" Claire was certain it was just habit that had her grandmother asking.

"Same as always, nothing!" Claire snapped. "Which should make torturing me far less morally grey for you."

"Claire, don't be so overly dramatic." Angela stated taking her gloves off and smoothing back her hair. Claire turned her head away, attempting to get away from the woman that was sadly related to her. "We need to get her in a shower, she's a state."

"Happens when you get shot, sliced and diced, electrocuted, set on fire and drowned!" Claire snapped, "Next time I'll make sure to powder my nose first."

"Claire." Nathan began, and she turned away, not wanting to see him. "I never wanted you to go through that, to be here. But now that you are, we can't just ignore your abilities, what you're capable of, everything you could do to help this country Claire."

Tears slipped down her face, she didn't want to cry, after everything she'd been through without so much as a tear, but this... her own father, her grandmother, they couldn't even see that what they were doing was wrong. Did they even see her as a person?

"What about the others?" Claire grit out through her teeth. "Everyone else like me that you're keeping drugged here, will they get a chance to serve their country too? Is that what we are, expendable cannon fodder!"

"There's nothing expendable about you dear." Angela snapped, continuing to stroke her hair with a look of distaste on her face as her hands came away bloody. Her hands went to the straps, that held her pinned to the bed.

"Is that advisable?" The uniform asked, Claire stared hard at him, and was rewarded to see him flinch.

"She's my granddaughter." Angela snapped, patronisingly. "She's not going to do anything rash, are you?" Angela added, directing her question directly at Claire, then she winked, her back was to the others, they hadn't seen. Claire blanched, barely able to nod as her restraints were removed.

"Mrs Petrelli, I'm sorry but I really must insist she is returned to her room." The uniform demanded, placing a subtle hand on Angela's shoulder.

"And she will." Angela replied smoothly, slipping out of his grasp with ease. "Only it will not be that windowless little cell in the basement. My granddaughter is not some criminal that has abused her abilities. She has never harmed a soul, and she won't do so now." Angela turned staring hard at the two larger men in uniforms, and yet completely dominating them. "I have been catching and containing people with dangerous abilities for a very long time now. Believe me; I can handle my own grandchild." She turned and slipped the final restraint off Claire's legs and held out a hand. Claire ignored it and slid to her feet, grateful they had at least given her a hospital gown. Angela moved to the door, opening it and waiting patiently for her to follow.

"I'll stop by and see you soon Claire, we'll get this all straightened out." Nathan promised, with that half smile that politicians like him were so fond of. Claire just stared at him, allowing Angela to take her arm and pull her away.

They made it down the corridor and into a lift before Angela spoke again.

"I am so sorry Claire."

Claire turned, staring up at the older woman, she reached forward and grabbed her face, Claire tried to bat her away. "Don't touch me, I hate you."

"No listen to me," Angela grasped her face and held it tight, forcing their gazes to lock. "I had no choice, Nathan..." she struggled for words and Claire was struck by the idea that Angela was almost crying. "His father has had more of an influence on him than I'd hoped. He's not who he was, and I was foolish, I thought that maybe I could guide him, but he's on a mission, he truly believes he's doing the right thing here." Angela's grip was so tight it should have been uncomfortable. "He can't see the monster he's becoming, that he would do that, put you through..." words it seemed failed her. "He's not my son. Not anymore. He's Arthur's." Angela nodded, and smiled weakly at her. "You are what I care about; you are the best thing to come out of this family in such a long time Claire." The elevator doors slid open, and Angela dropped her face, readjusting her outfit and stalking forward, indicating for her to follow. It was another masterfully executed mood shift, and Claire was so stunned she simply followed. No matter how long she lived, she was certain she would never be able to read her grandmother. Even now she had no idea if a single word that had come out of her mouth had held even a shred of truth to it.

They reached what seemed to be a barracks, empty of course, and Angela led her to the showers. "Get in Claire. Let's get this mess off you." Angela had never struck her as the maternal type, and she had never really been all that comfortable with the other woman, but as she slipped the gown off her and gently manoeuvred her into the shower, she didn't protest.

"You're in shock." Angela told her calmly, turning on the shower, and pushing her head under it. "It's your body's natural reaction. Something similar happened to Adam, when the company tested him." Angela continued.

"Adam?"

Angela paused. "Yes, I forgot you never met. Adam was like you, he could regenerate; he founded the company, a long time ago. He was over 400 years old, our records have him dating back as far as feudal Japan in the 1600's, where he went by the name Takezo Kensei." She sighed. "But Adam lost his taste for living, seemed to think the world was doomed, that there was no hope. We had to lock him away." Claire absorbed that quietly. Would she live to be 400 years old... would she give up on humanity too? Had she already? "But the company also tested his regenerative abilities, nothing quite like Nathan and the militaries," Claire felt her grandmother shudder as Angela's hands came up, shifting her hair and lathering it with shampoo. "He came through it all, but his body went into a state of shock." Was that why she felt numb? Was incapable of even washing her own hair? Was she in shock? "Your bodies heal, but the mind, it can't recover as quickly, when his limbs grew back, granted they didn't return anywhere near as fast as yours Claire, and certainly not without pain, but he had what we call Alien Limb Syndrome, couldn't accept that they were his own." Angela turned her around gently and pushed her head back to get the water over the front of her head. "It took him a long time to get over it, for months he was quiet, withdrawn, after all he'd seen, all he'd been through, but being faced with his own immortality like that, it was too much." Angela stepped in front of her and for the first time Claire realised the older woman was getting soaked through her perfectly tailored suit. She handed her a sponge, "Use this dear." Claire looked at it for a moment before picking it up and turning back around in the shower, happy to let the warm water wash away the blood and grime.

"I'm ok." Claire responded quietly. She turned back looking into the face of a woman she longed to understand.

"Claire, you're not. And that's to be expected. I promise you, I will do everything in my power to make sure nothing like that ever happens to you again." She took her hands and gently pulled her out of the steady stream of warm water, before lifting a towel from the bench and wrapping it around her shoulders, rubbing them dry.

"How?" Claire asked dully, promises meant nothing, she hadn't been able to stop it this time, what could she do in the future, did Angela really have any power?

"You're leaving." Claire turned frowning; this really wasn't a time for jokes. "Get dressed." Angela indicated a pile of folded clothes on the bench and a pair of trainers beneath them. "Quickly." Claire didn't waste time, her hands were still having trouble responding, it wasn't like they had described Adam's reaction though, she hadn't had the feeling that they weren't hers, perhaps because she'd never felt losing them, or because they had grown back so fast? Either way, they were trembling for an entirely separate reason, adrenalin, the look on Angela's face, that twinkle in her eyes, it screamed escape and hope... stupid, foolish, pathetic hope, bloomed inside of her. She tugged on the jeans and thin light blue jumper, struggling to get her arms in the sleeves as she simultaneously hopped into the trainers. Angela was already guiding her out of the showers, and down a corridor.

"What's happening?" Claire asked in a hushed tone as they passed armed soldiers.

"We need to get up two levels. Just stay with me, and keep looking harmless." Claire shot her a look but kept silent as they reached the lift.

"Is there a plan?" Panic was starting to set in alongside the adrenalin, and a bubbling sense of concern for the grandmother that was trying to rescue her.

"Yes." Angela's expression was tight.

"I'm not going to like it am I?"

"No, but it's the only option. Peter can't help us." Claire digested those words, and puzzled over them.

"Please, I don't want anything to happen to you." Claire managed to force out the words she hadn't thought she'd say not long ago.

"I'll be fine." Angela replied smoothly, her eyes on the panel as the elevator rose. "But you have to trust me Claire. This may not be the best option, but it is the only one." The door slid open and Claire stepped out cautiously, as Angela started speaking almost complete nonsense. Telling her about how she'd gotten her a room with a view, and arranging a schedule for her. Claire nodded blankly, understanding, but unable to offer more. Alarms went off and Angela stopped, she turned to the nearest soldiers and barked an order at them, which surprisingly they followed. Snapping to attention and taking up flanks around them, guns at the ready. Nervous energy began to bubble inside of her, this was really happening, Angela squeezed her hand, just as the doors ahead were blown off their hinges, knocking them all back onto the floor. The fire and debris cleared, but the gunfire from the soldiers beside them had already started. A dark figure stepped through, backlit by the flames, and half buried in smoke... whoever it was, she admitted he made an entrance. The guns were torn from the hands of the soldiers by an invisible force, before they too were lifted into the air and thrown back down the corridor like rag dolls. Her chest tightened as the figure stepped forward, her eyes not leaving that familiar gate, the orange jump suit he wore not detracting from the effect one bit.

"Hello Claire." That voice, the voice from her nightmares.

"Sylar." She breathed. He stepped clear of the smoke, his dark hair glinting in the emergency lighting, the red glow only enhancing the sharp, almost feral look of his features, and making that orange suit look blood red. Claire shot a look at Angela, who nodded at her imperceptibly, before getting up and running in the opposite direction. Sylar raised a hand and flung her grandmother into a wall; she slid down it, and fell still. Claire hoped only unconscious. "What are you...?" she tried, failing to form the words as Sylar towered over her. "Are you here to kill me?"

The grin on his face was as disturbing as it was familiar, the last time she'd seen him he'd had a glass shard sticking out the back of his head, at her hands. "I'm escaping." He shrugged and held out a hand to her. "Coming?"

---*----


	4. Damaged Part IV

Damaged Part IV (NC-17)

Written by Devilishlysas83  
AU Fugitives  
Warning: some disturbing imagery; non con in later chapters

Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes, or its characters, I just like to take them for a joy ride.

Extract: _ She couldn't take his hand, escape or not, if it came from Sylar she couldn't take it. He seemed to conclude the same thing, and grasped her shoulders, lifting her up to her feet. She struggled, not sure where she would go if she escaped Sylar, or why she should..._

Claire just stared at his hand; then glanced back at Angela. "Oh don't worry she's still alive." Sylar cut in, "Angela and I have unfinished business for another day." She couldn't take his hand, escape or not, if it came from Sylar she couldn't take it. He seemed to conclude the same thing, and grasped her shoulders, lifting her up to her feet. She struggled, not sure where she would go if she escaped Sylar, or why she should... but knowing that she couldn't go with him. His arms went around her waist and lifted her almost effortlessly off the floor, dragging her. She struggled against him, but his grip was vice like, and his face was set.

"Why?" Claire snapped up at him, finding her voice, if only briefly, as he dragged her into the lift that she and Angela had just vacated. He slammed his hand into the buttons... nothing; it didn't move. So he unleashed a charge of electricity at it instead, which seemed to jerk the elevator to life and it rose.

"Would you rather stay here?" he added snidely. "With Daddy and his military minds? I saw their little show, it was very..." he paused staring hard at her face. "Informative."

Claire opened her mouth and closed it again, not able to form a cohesive argument against that, and certainly not one that wouldn't come out more than a little childish. Especially given that technically he was rescuing her... although given Angela's cryptic involvement Claire wasn't sure just how much of this Sylar had planned.

"How did you get out of your cell? Weren't they drugging you?" Sylar was watching the floors as they rose, his dark eyes flashing with undimmed intelligence that for once she was glad wasn't directed at tormenting her.

"Someone screwed up on the dosage." He explained simply. _Angela. _ Claire kept that information to herself for now, aware that the cameras were still on. So they lapsed into an odd silence, the serial killer and the cheerleader, both about to become fugitives of the U.S Government. The lift came to a shuddering halt, and the doors slid open to a hail of gunfire. Dodging around the sides of the elevator she waited, not wanting a bullet through the head, although she was starting to believe that even that wouldn't put her down permanently, it was still no reason to try it. Sylar strode out his hand up, warding off bullets, dragging her behind him by her arm. Fire, electricity, telekinesis, and some strange melting ability he used them all, until the opposition were a burnt, melted, mangled mess, and the guns were silent. Claire stared, mildly horrified and mildly impressed, as he finished off with some kind of bellowing roar that obliterated the doors ahead.

"Move." He instructed, not releasing her arm as he forced one foot in front of the other from her. _If Angela had dropped his dosage, enough to return his abilities, how on earth had she got him to come and rescue her as well?_

"Do you have a plan?" It seemed like such an inadequate thing to say, but she was out of ideas, and had no idea what Sylar's powers were at the moment.

"Yes." He stalked through the corridors, cutting down soldiers with far too much glee before half of them even got a shot off. A dart glanced off the wall beside her head and she stopped dead, staring at it. Sylar plucked it out of the wall and glared soundly at it. "Drugged." He muttered tossing it away, "they really don't want us out." Progress was slower now that they were using ammo that Sylar actually wanted to avoid being hit by. When they finally reached a large hanger bay she almost breathed a sigh of relief, a hanger bay meant access to the outside; somewhere to get the jets that surrounded them out. The relief was short lived as soldiers appeared out of the woodwork, surrounding them from all vantage points. Surely Sylar couldn't stop them all... but they didn't fire. Instead Nathan's voice came over the speakers.

"Sylar. Release Claire."

Sylar sneered. "Too afraid to come down and face me yourself daddy?" he grabbed her then; dragging her in front of him, so that his arm pinned hers against her chest and holding her fast.

"Release Claire. I'm only going to warn you once." Nathan's tone was hard enough to cut diamonds, Claire was certain there was no bluff coming.

"No." Sylar replied. Surprising her, they were going to aim to kill him; already too many red dots were already clustered on his forehead. "Claire is this institutions pride and joy, its pay off for rounding up the rest of us. The only thing you give a damn about." Sylar faced the camera. "Now, she's mine."

"Then you leave me no choice." Nathan added coolly. "Kill him." Gunfire erupted, Sylar stopped most, but not all, rounds ploughed into his chest, through hers. He stopped the head shots, but not the rest. The force of the impacts caused them both to falter, but his grip on her never lessened. He grinned, unleashing lightening which danced over the metal aircraft, catching the soldiers hidden within, they screamed hoarsely until they fell still, smoking and silent. Claire wanted to close her eyes, to look away, this would be a bloodbath. Nathan and his boys couldn't stop Sylar; that was the point of this place after all... because they were a threat to humanity, to national security. He made short work of the rest, and Nathan's voice was silent over the intercom, but that didn't stop Sylar adding one last jab.

"Don't you get tired of always picking the losing side Nathan?" he laughed darkly and dragged her through the bodies, until they reached a jeep parked up on the side. He yanked the dead out, and shoved her inside. In moments they were roaring through the compound, and crashing through the gates. No one followed, the reinforcements either too slow, or dead. Either way, Sylar was most definitely making a break for it, with her in tow.

"We need a new car." He muttered quietly after 10minutes of silence. He glanced at her, "This ones being tracked."

Claire nodded, turning back to look at the road in time to see a car in front come to a screeching halt, a black sedan model, but it was blocking the road. Sylar raised his hand to telekinetically shove it out of the way when a familiar figure stepped out of the driver's seat.

"Dad?" she managed weakly, staring at the man that was her real father. "Stop!" she screeched lurching sideways to grab the wheel, causing the car to swerve away from her father. Sylar swore as the jeep bounced off the road and up a bank, before grinding to a halt. She was out of the car and running for her father before the engine had even stopped. She got within three feet of him when she was stopped completely immobile, and invisible force latched around her and held her fast. Claire turned her head, as Sylar stalked forwards his hand palm up towards her.

"Sylar let her go. We don't have much time." Noah Bennet snapped in typical gruff style, his gun already out and pointed at the man he despised.

Sylar slid up behind her and placed a restraining hand on her shoulder, not releasing the invisible bonds. "Now why does everyone keep insisting on telling me what to do?" he sneered, that trademark smirk in place.

"Let her go. This isn't the plan Gabriel." His gun cocked and Sylar just raised an eyebrow.

"Plan?"

"Come on your not stupid. Did you really think that the U.S. Government just conveniently dropped the dosage of your cocktail, just enough and ever so gradually, so that you powers could re-manifest. Just in time for you to pick up Parkman's broadcasted plea for someone to help Claire out of the chamber of horrors they had her running through?"

Sylar frowned.

"Angela has been arranging this for some time, with those of us outside. We knew there was no way that we could get her out, but that you could."

Sylar's grin increased. "How very typical of you Noah. There are close to a hundred people in there, people just like us. But all you care about is getting Claire out."

Noah cocked his gun and Sylar ripped it from his hands with ease, leaving Noah looking angry and desperate.

"We knew that you wouldn't save them, and we couldn't. But we thought, hoped," her father amended looking at her, "that maybe if we showed you what they were doing to Claire; that you might save her."

"Angela had one of her dreams then?" Sylar cut in, reading deftly between the lines. "That woman was always a manipulative bitch. Just like you Noah." Sylar wrapped an arm around her waist and yanked her tightly back against his chest. "But you see; I'm tired of being manipulated by you and your boss. It's time I took what I want. After all, no one can stop me, they never could."

Claire stared mutely at her father, wishing her voice would return, but she couldn't force anything out, as Sylar gripped her to him.

"You don't want Claire." Noah snapped, but the strain in his voice was showing, and even Claire could see the sweat forming on his brow.

"Don't I?" Sylar asked darkly. "Haven't I always wanted her?"

"You wanted her ability, you have it, she's of no more use to you." Noah was pleading, and Claire realised there was no hope...again, there never was, that knowledge was slowly destroying her.

"Except as leverage against you." Sylar added smoothly. "Everyone always wants to protect the little indestructible cheerleader, to keep her safe, and out of the way." He snorted. "And yet somehow it all just keeps going wrong. I've got to her three times now. Four if we count today. You can't protect her from me." He grinned coldly staring down her father, "And you can't protect her from her real daddy." That barb landed, she watched his hands clench into fists, ready to pound Sylar to death. "Honestly Noah, what use are you to her?"

"Don't listen to him." Claire found her voice, and met her father's eyes.

"I'm taking Claire." Sylar added with finality. "I'm sure I'll find a use for her." His hands slid down her waist suggestively as his head dipped so that he could press a kiss to her temple. She would have struggled, screamed, tore loose, but he never gave her the chance. Claire was aware of a flash of metal from the corner of her eye, a pressure on the back of her head, and then it all went black.

---*---

Coming too for the second time that day wasn't immediately as interesting as the first time. For one there was no sound, no voices, and no one helpfully discussing her and what had happened. One thing was unfortunately familiar, Claire opened up her eyes and raised her hands, confirming what she'd already realised, she was handcuffed, she shifted slightly, and the handcuffs were connected to chains..._'terrific'_. Manoeuvring herself upright she realised she couldn't quite sit up, the chains went around her waist, the handcuffs obviously at her wrists, bound in front, and down to her legs where there were a second set of handcuffs. Twisting her head, she could make out that she was on a bed, the chains slipped through iron railings. That was it, wherever she was it was dark, and the bed was hard, at least there was a mattress on it at all, which was something of an improvement on the government issue cells. Her last memory was of her dad, charging at Sylar, unarmed, helpless, rattling her chains she gave them an experimental tug, useless, but she couldn't just sit there she had to know if he was ok. Perhaps she should have been more concerned that she was chained to Sylar's bed, but oddly it wasn't her first thought. In fact his absence was more of a problem right now... after all she couldn't exactly free herself. The idea that he might chain her up and leave her there indefinitely was of course a possibility, she really knew very little about the inner workings of his mind. In fact all she knew was that he was obsessed with power, hated her father and yet seemed to prefer to torment him rather than kill him, and the same went for her. Obsessed her father had said... she didn't want to be a serial killers obsession, especially not now when he already had her power. The chains clinked and her stomach knotted. Sylar had chained her up. Panic set in now, Sylar had broken loose, regained his abilities, and rescued her from a secret government prison, and all of a sudden she realised that right now, a secret government cell, hidden away, from him, was probably a very good idea.

Time passed, and her new cell, consisting of bed and chains, was actually a lot smaller than the one she'd just left, shifting had proved futile, there was literally no slack, he wasn't going to give her wiggle room it seemed, and as for slipping her hands through the chains... she could barely even flex her muscles enough to start yanking. It seemed like hours, but in the darkness she really had no frame of reference. There was always the possibility of screaming for help, but even in the unlikely event that someone would hear her, would she really want them to enter Sylar's house when he might return at any moment? An army of soldier's with fully functional sub-machine guns had failed to stop him, what would the neighbour, probably wielding a baseball bat be able to do? So she stayed silent, after all, if she screamed what if Sylar showed up? There was no getting around it; she hated the man... no monster, he wasn't a man, he didn't even have what could equate to human feelings. All he had was rage against the world that had made him the way he was, her father for somehow making that worse, and her, for some undeterminable reason, anyone with abilities was just there to service him until he ripped off the top of their heads and stole it for himself.

Lying there she had time to consider her 'escape' though, based on what Angela had said, what her dad had said, she could...well hoped she could, piece together what they had done. Angela had somehow found a way to cut off the drug that was keeping him powered down, and it seemed the same applied at least she imagined to some degree with Parkman, who'd acted like a receiver, sending the live feed of her bashing her indestructible way through the assault course from hell. This is where she got a little fuzzy... was she honestly supposed to believe that Sylar on seeing this, on seeing her had decided instead of making a break for it alone, chose to turn around and make his single minded way to her. Why would he care that she was being tortured by her family? That she was being put through everything her father had always tried to keep her from? If she was honest, she wasn't sure she wanted the answer, but suggestions popped into her head anyway. _'Maybe he was a possessive serial killer, he wanted to be the one to finally do her in?' _Not particularly comforting. _'He'd had a moment of conscience.' _ Unlikely. _'He'd was a ten year old trapped in a man's body, and everything he'd put her through was just his way of saying he liked her.'_ Even more unlikely and deeply disturbing to boot. Although her nervous mind couldn't seem to let go of the way he'd held her on the road, his hands gripping her waist, and that suggestive kiss to her temple. She could take him wanting to kill her, to hurt her, to take what she had, even in some sick way to make her the same as him. But the idea that he might want her...for her, she clamped her mind down on the thought; she wouldn't even let it finish. Weariness was creeping over her, after all from her perspective, she probably should have died over 50 times today, even if her body was able to repair perfectly, it had still been exhausting. Mentally draining, she was just thankful she hadn't really had the presence of mind to dwell on it, because she was sure if she did, the whole experience would send her back into that mute shower moment. But closing her eyes was not an option, she couldn't sleep, the idea of waking up to find Sylar in the room was horrifying, she wanted to be awake when he came back for her... if he ever did. It would be ironic she supposed, if the girl that couldn't die was left to rot in some pitch black room, chained to a bed, for the rest of eternity. Not a pleasant thought, but it did serve to make sleep unappealing if those were the kind of nightmare ideas she'd have to deal with in there.

Boredom became an issue after a while. Apparently nervousness, that anxious twisting knot in your gut, and that hyper aware state of fear was just not sustainable. Eventually it seemed to slip inside, waiting for that moment when it could bubble up to the surface again. Turning over became a major endeavour, she just wanted to shift the weight, she couldn't feel pain but she could still tell when her feet had fallen asleep, to which the obvious course of action was to shift them. It was like struggling in quick sand, a pointless waste of energy. Huffing she thumped her head back hard against the mattress, wishing she could feel that at least.

More time passed, and it dawned on her that it wasn't just boredom that was making time seem to drag, it really was passing. How long had she been here? She hadn't eaten anything in quite a while, or drunk anything, not for a couple of days back in her cell. They had been trying to see how long she could survive without food and water. Apparently a while! But she was grateful, despite the gnawing hunger in her stomach that made her want to retch, after all, it wasn't like Sylar had provided her with bathroom facilities, or if he had she certainly had no way of getting to them.

Boredom began to turn into irritation. Who kidnapped someone, chained them up and then just left them there? Sleep happened, it was inevitable, she could survive a while without it, weeks in fact, she knew that, had discovered that all by herself, but even she had to sleep eventually. It was always a relief when she awoke to find her situation unchanged, and Sylar still blessedly absent. But even that began to change, the desire to never see him again, became a desire to see anyone, to speak to someone, to get up, straighten her legs, stretch her back, and see the sunlight, even if that someone was Sylar.

Be careful what you wish for. Just as boredom, irritation, depression, and a fair amount of anxiety threatened to explode the door opened. It was a heavy door, wooden, her head snapped around and she stared at it nervously. A feint light filtered through from behind, a dull orange colour, that only succeeded in making the person silhouetted by it more menacing. Of course there was no point pretending, she knew exactly who was silhouetted there.

"Miss me?"

---*---


	5. Damaged Part V

Damaged Part V (NC-17)

Written by Devilishlysas83  
AU Fugitives  
Warning: some disturbing imagery; non con

Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes, or its characters, I just like to take them for a joy ride.

Extract: _"Why?" There was no reason to elaborate, as his eyes lifted once more to hers, his hands sliding over flesh he had no right to touch, he understood the multiple questions in that one word. Why was she here? Why did he save her only to chain her again? Why couldn't he just let her go? Why did he hate her? Why wouldn't he kill her? Why did he always know just how to get under her skin? Why was she always his plaything?_

She'd planned what she was going to say the moment he finally decided to show up, had it all worked out, a whole snide righteously indignant speech, dripping in sarcasm and thinly veiled disdain. Only the words didn't come. Confronted with her own personal demon, chained, and completely at his mercy... words failed her.

"And then there was silence." He stepped into the room, disappearing into the shadows until he was standing over her, with the sliver of light from the hall filtered through, picking out his dark features. The bed dipped as he sat on it, leaning over her, so that his head was directly over hers, and she could see every flicker of his eyes.

"What am I doing here?" she couldn't think of anything more intelligent to say than that.

A hand brushed over her hair and she flinched, but refused to turn her head away, showing weakness was not a good thing with serial killers, even if her insides were squirming at the idea of him touching her.

"Waiting for me." His voice was low, much lower than she'd ever realised, it seemed to rumble out through his chest, and down into hers, sending an unpleasant shiver through her, of course he noticed. "Cold?" he smirked, leaning close enough that their noses almost touched. "Oh I forgot, that's not possible, you don't feel things like that. Not anymore." He brushed a long smooth finger down her nose and she had to fight not to bite it off. "You feel that though, don't you Claire." He mused, as he lifted himself onto the mattress more firmly, sliding down to lie next to her, his head supported by a bent arm as he stared down at her. "Isn't it strange? You can't feel pain." He continued, his hand travelling down from her shoulder to her wrist in one slow, smooth stroke that forced another shiver from her, and sent every muscle she had into a tightly knotted ball. "But pleasure, the sensation of touch." A hand flattened out and pressed against her stomach, slipping under the thin jumper so that his skin was flush against hers.

"Don't touch me." She grit the words out, practically spitting them, but they still managed to sound like a plea. His hand pressed harder against her; and his jean clad leg slid along hers.

"I've told you, I'm done listening to people Claire. Done following other people's orders, done being manipulated." His mouth brushed her neck across the pulse point, further proving his point.

"Why?" There was no reason to elaborate, as his eyes lifted once more to hers, his hands sliding over flesh he had no right to touch, he understood the multiple questions in that one word. _Why was she here? Why did he save her only to chain her again? Why couldn't he just let her go? Why did he hate her? Why wouldn't he kill her? Why did he always know just how to get under her skin? Why was she always his plaything?_

"Why not?" his reply was everything she'd come to expect from him, arrogant, selfish, and utterly final.

"Did you kill my dad?" she held his gaze, knowing he wouldn't lie.

"No." A sigh of relief escaped her, which caused his mouth to twitch at the corner, he hated that she cared about a man he despised, and clearly thought that she should despise too. "What would be the point in killing him?" His hand slid to her hip, and she became aware of just how much of him she could feel pressed against her side. "Dead, I can't use you against him, and let's face it Claire, you are the only weapon that can get under his armour."

"I won't let you hurt him, not with me!" she swore. His laugh was cold, humourless, and it chilled her like nothing else could now.

"Sweet, precious Claire." He murmured, punctuating his words with kisses against her neck that had her squirming to get away. "You already are. You're daddy's watched you in here, chained, waiting for the monster, and just the thought of what I was going to do to you... he's already hurting Claire."

"You're sick." She told him with feeling, digesting his words, the idea that her dad was watching, probably chained to a chair in another room, another house, likely as far away as possible from this location, his eyes glued to a TV monitor. It was torture, worse than anything Nathan and his uniforms could have dreamed up. Sylar knew how to hurt her, how to make her bleed, hadn't he said to her in Primatech, right before he killed her mother, and it burnt to the ground; that they couldn't be damaged, except for a broken heart?

"Yes. I am." He said it like a promise, whispered softly into her ear, more caress than anything else.

"I won't give you what you want." She smiled coolly back at him. "I won't beg you to stop, won't fight pointlessly, won't scream!" Her eyes were cold as she narrowed them at him, as he slid on top of her, pressing the chains between them. "Whatever you do to me, it doesn't matter, it won't change anything, you're a monster; it's just your nature. But I won't help you hurt him."

Sylar's hands cupped her face, that awful grin spreading, he looked happier than she'd ever seen him before. "You don't know what I want Claire." The thought stilled her, sending her mind spinning... what else could he want? His lips lowered to her neck, to the pulse point and he sucked the sensitive skin into his mouth... and she gasped, her hips rising and smashing into his in surprise. A chuckle escaped him and when he raised his head; his eyes were practically glowing with some emotion she didn't dare read. "You will beg Claire," he kissed her cheek, lingering there a moment too long, "You will fight me," he nipped her ear lobe, "and you absolutely will scream." He promised pressing firm insistent lips against hers, he pulled away from her unresponsive mouth. Her eyes flashed and she attempted to buck him off her, the fight returning at the very notion of what he was suggesting.

Sylar apparently wasn't one to waste time, an invisible force pinned her whilst his hands tore at the thin jumper, shredding it and pulling it clean off her. Of course she had nothing beneath, Angela hadn't supplied underwear. His eyes lit up at her exposed flesh, and she renewed her struggle to break free of him... which was about as successful as her attempts to injure herself always were. Nothing but a messy, undignified, waste of time.

Long fingers grasped a breast, whilst a mouth descended over the other, and she was forced to clutch the chains of her pinned fists beneath him to contain the moan that had almost broken free. Pleasure shot through her from each hardening nipple, straight to her abdomen, settling there like a tight ball. It wasn't supposed to feel like this, she was supposed to be disgusted, repulsed, nauseous, reeling in blind panic... something other than this, she had almost been raped before, she knew exactly what she was supposed to feel, and it wasn't this. Teeth bit down on a nipple and she felt the pleasure sharpen almost into pain... pain, something she longed to feel again. Her poor starved neurones were doing this... what had Sylar said? That she couldn't feel pain, but she could feel pleasure. His hips ground into hers and she felt the full length of him hard against her, pressing between her thankfully still in one piece jeans. Her body was starved for senses, pain was gone, all she still had was pleasure, and even that might one day desert her too... her body wasn't responding like it should, it was responding like it wanted to. Her body wanted to feel something. Sylar... the bastard that had done this to her, he knew what her body wanted, what it needed. She hated him for that, but it was just another thing to add to the list. His rough tongue lavished attention on her nipples and she withstood it, without so much as a breath out of place. Until his tongue delved into her navel, she hissed, gritting her teeth, and desperately wishing to claw back the way her whole body had bucked in response. His hands brushed lower to her hips, with slow gentle ease, he wasn't going to simply make this quick, get it over with... she turned her head to the side, searching for the camera, for her father's face behind it. _'I'm sorry.' _She mouthed across into the darkness, to where Sylar had perhaps unintentionally looked when he'd mentioned her father. His hands slid down the length of her legs, as he divested her of the last shred of decency, protecting her from him. His own shirt followed, so that when his bare skin glinted in the poor light, she was forced to close her eyes... rapists should be hideous, monstrous, they shouldn't have taut muscles and soft skin.

"Perfect." His voice hovered somewhere at her waist as he pressed a kiss to her hip, before sliding up her body so they were face to face again and his hard length was pressed over her stomach, restrained so far by the denim. She refused to open her eyes, didn't want to see him, perhaps if she could imagine someone else, that she was someone else. Her eyes flew open and she attempted to close them, but it was impossible. "No Claire. You don't get to escape. You're going to watch everything I do to you, feel it all." It was a cruelty any normal rapist couldn't demand of their victim, but this was Sylar, and she was helpless, even in her own mind against him. Her skin was his playground, and he explored it all, his touch gentle and yet insistent, his eyes so dark with desire, and playful exploration that he didn't look like a monster. She needed him to look like a monster.

"Pathetic." She sneered. His head shot up and his eyes narrowed at her in a scowl that drew his thick dark eyebrows almost together. "All powerful Garbiel, has to rape the cheerleader to feel like a man." His hands tightened on her flesh, his nails digging in, as the anger flashed through him. Grinning she realised she wasn't entirely powerless... he wanted her, wanted this, wanted her to want him. He wouldn't get his wish. "Pathetic." She reiterated in her best impression of the girl she had been in high school so long ago, the one that wouldn't have given the boy Gabriel had been, the time of day. But he smirked in response and slid his hands to her thighs, and with the minimal amount of effort, prised them apart, sliding his legs between them. Then his hands grasped her chains, there was a snap and something came loose, without so much as touching them, he wrenched her arms above her head, slamming them into the mattress together, as the chain looped around the iron head board. Leaving her taut and more exposed than ever before him.

"You're not that girl anymore Claire. Not the snotty, popular, high school cheerleader." His large hands slid down her side, brushing the sides of her breasts as he went and forcing her to tense so sharply that she was surprised something hadn't popped. "You're a goddess." His words stunned her and she couldn't help but look at his face, wishing she hadn't as she saw the terrible truth shining in his eyes. "Beautiful," he continued, his hands forcing goose bumps to rise on her arms, "immortal." He added, as those same hands slid underneath to her lower back and down, as his gaze kept her mesmerised. "With an army of devoted subjects, willing to die for you, protect you...to love you." Hands grasped her ass firmly and she pressed her lips into a tight line, not giving him the satisfaction of hearing the moan her body wanted to release at the rough contact on such a sensitive area. "But mortals aren't supposed to touch the gods are they Claire," he rasped, his lips moving against her cheek, his tongue flicking out to taste the tears she hadn't even realised had slipped down her face. "All those other boys, all of them trying to give you what you needed, to touch you, be close to you." His hips pressed down and she sucked in a sharp breath, he was so hard and the pressure shot electricity through her entire body. "They weren't worthy Claire. Not special. They disappointed you didn't they. Hurt you. Left you." He tried to kiss her again, his lips explored her tightly sealed mouth, she wanted to respond, to say something, but opening her mouth now would give him access, and so she kept her mouth shut. Until his hand slipped between her legs and he pinched the tight knot between them. Air whooshed out of her lungs and her mouth and his tongue delved in, tasting her, forcing his breath into her lungs. There was no option, no thought, she bit down hard, and blood filled her mouth, Sylar flinched but didn't withdraw his already healing tongue from her mouth, instead he pressed it more insistently into her, practically entering her throat with it. She couldn't throw up, it was apparently something her body didn't do, she could never remember ever having been sick, but could she have been, she was certain with his tongue pressed down her throat and his rock hard penis pressed against her, she would have right then.

Finally he pulled his mouth from hers and she wrenched her head to the side, away from the camera, at least she hoped it was away, there was no way of telling just how many he had up, it was possible every angle was covered to better document it all for her dad. She spat his blood out, not wanting to taste anymore of him than she had to. The hand between her legs moved and a single finger brushed along her length, causing a sharp shudder to sweep through her, she tensed, as he shifted his angle, then his finger slid inside. Her whole body arched she couldn't help it, there was no pain, just pleasure racing along starved neurones, demanding she respond as his finger pushed along fluttering inner muscles. Slowly he pushed within her, and her legs tightened around his waist involuntarily as his free hand grasped her ass working it in tandem, his mouth descended over a breast and she bit down hard on her lip, tasting fresh blood, but refusing to let out the groan that had bubbled inside of her chest. He was merciless she realised, as another finger slid inside of her, stretching her blissfully, and increasing the friction, so that the rhythm of his hand pumping began to worm through her. Her breathing grew shallow, and despite her efforts her hips pushed to meet his eager hand, to continue the torment. Pressure, it built steadily inside her abdomen, and curled her toes as she fought him, fought it. Teeth against her nipples were her undoing; the moan she released was utterly wanton, her dad, watching, would in no way be able to interpret it as pain. Fresh tears blossomed and slid down her cheeks, as she shook her head, trying to hold back the pressure between her legs. But as Sylar's lips went around her pulse point, his head at her throat, his hand buried between her legs increased the rhythm, his thumb brushing over the sensitive nub on top, there was no way of stopping it. She clutched at the chains above her hands, trying to draw strength, support, to remind herself where she was, why... the pressure exploded within her, and her head slammed back into the mattress, her back arched off the bed wildly, cradled in his eager hands, as he coaxed her through her first real orgasm. She felt it trickle down her legs, as he pulled his fingers out with a wet sound; which was somehow more indecent to her than anything else had been. Those same fingers pressed against her lips as she struggled to return her breathing to normal. Claire turned away, only to find her head held in place and the insistent fingers sliding between her lips.

"Taste it Claire, this is what your body wants. How much it wants this." he forced the fingers in and she wished once more for the gag reflex that seemed to elude her 'perfect' body. She could have bitten down on them, probably should have as he worked them around her mouth, forcing her to taste her own shame. But the idea of mingling his blood with this, of tasting him again it was worse. He slid the fingers from her mouth pressing them to his own, and sucking at them, she grimaced in response, which only increased his smirk. She tried not to think of her dad, watching, was it live? Was he seeing it right now? Sylar answered her question.

"Do you know what she tastes like Noah?" Sylar didn't take his head off her face as he spoke; letting her see the enjoyment he was taking out of this. "Like payback." He sneered, running a finger down the centre of her chest to her navel as he spoke. "Sweet, ripe, exquisite...revenge." She wanted to close her eyes, to look away from that smirk, but to turn her head would be to face a camera, to show her father the awful truth on her face. "And I can't get enough of it." His mouth slid down her stomach, his tongue out all the way, until he reached his goal and his mouth latched onto the already over sensitised flesh between her legs. Grunting at the contact she attempted to squirm out of his grasp, but his hands held her hips firm, and the invisible pressure on her legs held them wide as his tongue slipped inside her. His thumb pressed in a hard circle on the nub as he delved inside, faster than before the pressure rose, and she was gasping and panting in moments. His hands had been skilled, far more so than any other boy that had tried, but no one had ever done this to her, she had no reference for comparison. But as her eyes seemed to roll back in her head and her body slipped into a heaving, arching, quivering mess, a keening mewl escaping her, she assumed it had been far too good. He slid back up her sweating panting body, as the trembling slowly stilled.

"You can't fight it Claire." He told her softly, brushing the fresh tears off her cheeks. "I have a talent for knowing just how things work. I know how you work; know how this glorious body of yours works. I'm going to make it hum with pleasure Claire."

Claire had wanted to be strong for her father, for herself; to deny this monster his sick pleasure. But a sob tore free and the tears hot and fresh flowed out. "Please, please don't do this." she begged, just like he had promised and his grin was savage above her. His body weight shifted and for one brief moment she wondered if he had listened to her plea, but as her eyes followed down in time to see him slip out of his jeans and release his straining erection in all its terrifying glory, hope plummeted. He slid over her, this time nothing to protect her from the hot hard heat of him, against her stomach, the tip already leaking over her. His hands took her face, as she sobbed quietly, not able to stop the tears. "Please Gabriel, please." His body tensed but that was it, his eyes were black, with liquid excitement, and dark desire.

"Sylar." He corrected her, "But even Gabriel would have been hard pressed to stop himself now." His hips rolled and he dipped between her legs, his tip pushing against her thighs. "Don't cry." He chastised her, brushing the tears from her cheeks. "First times are supposed to be special." He kissed the tear tracks tenderly. "Doesn't your first time feel special Claire?" She flinched stung by his words, and his grip tightened as his hips pressed down, his left hand sliding down to her ass, pulling her right leg up his hip. His hardness pushed and her heat gave way, as he slid in, with deliberate slowness, letting her feel every inch of him as he made his way into her slick core. It should have hurt; she knew that, she should have felt the sharp pain as he pushed through her flimsy resistance, but she couldn't, only felt the pressure as he filled her, the absolute fullness that his fingers could never have achieved. He groaned above her, as he buried himself inside her, deep enough that she could feel his balls against her skin, as he ducked his head into her neck, wrapping his free hand around strands of her golden hair.

"Perfect." He whispered pressing a kiss against her, ignoring the tears that splashed against his cheeks from hers. He lifted his head, taking her in, the sight of her, tiny and golden sobbing silently beneath him, and she could see the savage pleasure he took from it. "You'll always be this way Claire." He promised, brushing hair out of her face, so that he could see her clearly. "Always be a virgin; always bleed when I take it from you. I will always be your first, and no one, not if you live forever, will ever be as good, will ever make your body sing the way I will." She believed him, and it broke her, she felt the exact moment her heart seemed to shatter. "You'll always be mine Claire. I'll always find you, long after your daddy, and the others have turned to dust. I'll find you, my forever virgin...my sweet Claire." His lips brushed hers, as his hips moved against her. It was nothing like his fingers, nothing like his tongue, this was something different, deeper, better, and she hated him for it.

Anger bubbled over and she cursed him loudly, as he pinched her nipples, hard, thrusting into her determinedly. The steady rhythm as he brushed her womb was too much to ignore, and as his hands pulled at her hips, sending him deeper she couldn't help lifting to meet him. It was too much, and she might never feel anything again, each powerful stroke he made seemed to send jolts of electricity through her, pulsing somewhere inside. Trying to ignore it, to stop the crashing wave she watched his face, her eyes still refusing to close against his power. He was revealed to her like never before, exposed as the look of complete ecstasy grew over his face, his eyes half closed, shone beneath. He might have taken this from her, but she could take something from him too, because even if her body craved this, craved his touch after this, then she was certain he would be trapped in the same hell. Chest heaving with the effort, and her insides quivering against his relentless pounding she was beyond help, her traitorous body would take everything he had to offer, and it wouldn't apologise. She hadn't felt this alive since that day she'd thrown herself off the building to escape Nathan the first time, so long ago now. His thumb was back between her legs, but it didn't matter, sharp pleasure was already coursing through her, she wanted to stop, but couldn't, feared what would happen when the pressure burst. His thrusts grew sharp, violent and so deep that everything became white noise, her own terrible moans mingling with his. He pinched her hard between her legs, combining it with a thrust and the pressure exploded behind her eyes, and rushed out of her mouth in a scream of release she could never contain. Every inch of her trembled and consciousness seemed to flicker at the edges, vaguely aware she felt his release, as hot fluid was pumped furiously into her quivering core. Her name fell from his lips like a prayer as he collapsed on top of her, sweating and heaving.

The moment their breathing had slowed, and her muscles had stopped pulsing against him, he'd slipped from her and stood, shining in the dim light like a demon, beautiful and terrible in his wrath. He smiled and her chains fell away, hesitantly she watched him as he slipped back into his own clothes, before throwing a shirt at her, one of his of course. She watched him, unable to say a word, he crossed his arms and leant against the wall, waiting. So she slipped the shirt on, and stood up, revelling in the feel of standing, and trying to ignore the pleasant tingling between her legs. He stalked forward and grasped her arm, dragging her from the room. It wasn't a very big house, and run down, exposed boards were everywhere. It took her a moment to recognise that this was Steven Cranfields house. He kicked open a door and pushed her inside.

Her father sat, chained, with a nasty gash above his right eye, but otherwise unharmed. Surrounding him were monitors, every size and shape, she had been right, every angle had been covered, in graphic detail. She dared to look into his face, but he had eyes only for Sylar, finally she could see it... see what Sylar had wanted to show her all along. The monster was shining out of her father's face, a monster that wanted to rend, and tear, and rain untold suffering down. A man without conscience; who would hunt Sylar to the ends of the earth...but not for her; never for her. For him.

Sylar threw her forward, that smirk back on his face as he took in her expression, and the turmoil in her eyes. "Why don't you release your daddy." Claire caught herself, stumbling slightly; she tugged at the shirt that fell to her thighs, preserving what was left of her dignity. Her father's face turned to her finally, pity... she blinked back tears, she didn't want his pity. He growled something from behind his gag, so she left it in place. Getting to her knees she picked up the key that Sylar kicked her way, and released his legs first, then his torso, and finally his hands. Her father leapt to his feet tearing the gag from his mouth as he went, barrelling forward, his full strength aimed at Sylar with a roar of absolute fury. Of course he never reached Sylar, he stopped in midair, hanging dumbly, as he was spun around slowly; mouthing words he couldn't say against the pressure Sylar had on his throat.

"Didn't you like the show Noah?" Sylar taunted, and Claire fell back onto the floor, drawing her knees up to her chest, defeated. "Because Claire did." The barb struck deep and she buried her head against her knees. "She's mine now Noah. Always. And I'll come for her again and again and give her what she needs. And when you're dead and gone," he stalked forward, getting right into her father's face, nose to nose, as her father struggled against his invisible bindings to beat him to death. "When your dust in the ground," he continued, "I'll be the one to protect her, to keep her safe. Safer than you ever could." He glanced over at her, and that soft smile behind sharp eyes told her it was no idle threat. She would never be rid of him, and she'd always reach to him because there would be no one else...no other way to feel alive.

He turned away stalking towards the door, before glancing back over his shoulder, keeping her dad suspended and silent. "I'll see you soon babydoll." He winked, and her father went crashing heavily into the far wall, falling still, and Sylar was gone. Crawling over to her father she reached out shaking, as she checked his pulse, it was strong, just unconscious. Feeling more alone than she ever had, Claire gripped her father's unmoving form and placed her head against his chest, closing her eyes, she let the tears come...only they didn't, she couldn't cry. So she simply lay there listening to the sound of her father's heart beating, surrounded by monitors that had captured her at her weakest; the moment Sylar had broken her. Not through pain, or suffering or any of the tests Nathan and the Government had tried, he'd hurt her, the only way people like them could be, by breaking her heart.

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